The evening starts off with Brooke and Boytoy doing a Jive. Uh oh. After all the time in the roll-in spent with Brooke saying she’s focusing on “bringing the audience in,” this was her least animated dance all season. And she seemed to be forgetting steps all the way through. And she was just unfun to watch. I dunno, I want her to be in the finals, but she better get her act together before the second dance.
Now that the election is over (and Tiny Fey is trying to make her life a Palin-free zone) it looks like Saturday Night Live has gone back to being a hit-or-miss (mostly miss) proposition.
One thing that was pretty funny was the “We’re the Dancers” skit with Justin Timberlake and Beyoncé. Gotta love Andy Samberg, Timberlake, and the chubby guy in leotards and high heels, being all faux-Beyoncérrific. And them doing a tragic imitation of the choreography from Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” video just a few minutes before she actually performed the number was a bit more editorial than I think Team Beyoncé anticipated; when she ended up doing that dance later with those two back-up girls, it was kinda horrible.
The mystery is, Why does the choreography for the video look pretty good, but the version of it they did on SNL was a spastic mess? I’m serious. If I didn’t have the “official” video to refer back to, I could start charting the decline of contemporary dance from what they did last night. Sucked. Sucked big, gagged, and then lost its dinner.
I guess I could watch last night’s peformance again, and try to analyze why it was artless, hapless, and senseless. And don’t forget spastic. Definitively spastic. But — and this may elicit a heave of relief in certain circles — I’m not gonna go back and watch that painful thang again. It’s too unnerving.
But it was different from the video. In ways painful and debilitating.
Now that Chicken Legs is out, perhaps the Parade of Mediocrity can bump things up a notch. And maybe monkeys will fly outta my butt. (Too pessimistic?) All the “stars” are doing a 15-second solo in the midst of things. Is it evil of me to wish Susan Lucci were still around for that?
Cody Montana is up first, and he’s still dancing with Natasha Fatale instead of Blondus Hospitalus. The Summer of ‘42 couple did a respectable, albeit vanilla, Foxtrot. I did like the lifts and the leg-over-the-shoulder thing. But really, the most interesting thing was trying to figure out what was going on with the ass portion of Edyta’s dress. Was that a buttcrack slit, or what?
Everybody looks kinda punchy tonight, especially that Samantha girl who tries to host the thing when her tongue is cooperating with her. And there’s gonna be team dancing…the Jets are gonna have their way…toni-i-ight.
I was watching The View this morning…not because I expected to get any worthwhile commentary out of it (that expired the day Rosie O’Donnell walked off), but because Cloris Leachman would be the latest Bad Dance Show castoff featured. Seemed like it’d be good for a few Blücher laughs.
“Hot Topics” began, and Vast-Right-Wing-Conspiracy-Tool Elizabeth Hasslesplat (or whatever) started in on her exhausting, automaton, hate-attack on Obama. I’d yawn if it weren’t so annoying. Can one be bored and annoyed simultaneously? In any event, they began the show by plugging Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” And li’l Elizabeth — in the midst of the adulation over the “Thriller” video — suggested that perhaps that was the origin of the line dance.
Yes, Elizabeth. Forget about Texas Two-Step or the Disco Hustle. Or the Minuet or the Gavotte. Or the Bunny Hop. The “Thriller” video was the very first line dance known to Man. Ever. Now get back to your closed-minded but hopelessly open-mouthed rant against anything that isn’t Republican.
It’s impressive to see someone whose lack of intelligence and insight is not restricted to just one area.
There’s gonna be a group Hip Hop dance tonight…be still, my gag reflex. Other than that, maybe this week will be less weak than usual; the Lord of the Dance is substituting for the Old Brit judge tonight (well…that’s still in the barf-in-my-mouth category), and most of the dead weight has been eliminated from the contestant horde…except for Chicken Legs, but she’s ERICA KANE, so deal with it.
First up is the Irritating Sprinter with Chunky. Yawn. They’re doing the Vietnamese Waltz (remember how many contestants used to get that confused on the Good Dance Show?…ah, good times…). Man, did Maurice look uncomfy in that dance! You know those Great Presidents at Disneyland, that are audio-animatronic robots? That’s about how Momo was dancin’ this one. My favorite stiff moment of his was when he used Cheryl as a Swiffer, dragging her all across that stage, and in a circle where there evidently was one particularly messy spill that he needed to soak up with her. He almost looked like he was dancing for a few counts there, but then he turned into the PSA for arthritis again (too sickly clinical?).
Lancey and Lacey are now gonna do their dancey. If Lance tells us in one more roll-in that he was called the worst dancer in ‘Nsync, I’m-a gonna scream-a. They’re doing the Jive. Now, you know I’m rootin’ for these krazy kids…but that wasn’t a great dance. First of all, don’t spend the first 30 seconds with Lance alone onstage sliding down bannisters and just jumping around. Then, the dance itself was pretty repetitious and rather mechanical. No spunk, no pep, no heart, no so good. For the first week, I’m not rootin’ so hard. Inexplicably, the judges diametrically disagree with me. Well…that’s not such a surprise with those judges. And may I say, Flatley is kinda annoying.
Chicken Legs Lucci is back. By the way, I watched her Tony-partner in his cameo on All My Children today. It was pretty tasteless. Erica was telling Adam how sorry she was that his daughter-in-law was dead (!), and then Tony limped in her path and said, “Sorry, Miss Kane.” Gee, I hope they kill an actress off every week so Tony can make continued awkward interruptions. Well, after that roll-in about how she was gonna Set Herself Free for the Mambo, I was hopeful. And now, having watched it, my hopes for the future are dashed. Like waves crashing against a desolate beach. That was really quite pathetic. Why Tony keeps choreographing C.L. to do these li’l splits and these legwork combinations — they only serve to accent her chicken-legginess. She was nice and “fiery” when she was on the floor shaking her ta-tas, but the minute that woman gets back on her drumsticks, she loses all emotion. And Michael Flatley got even more annoying with his comments…is the guy trying to be Cary Grant? Cary Grant is dead, bub!
Brooke and Kendoll are doing the Rhumba, and she’s apparently got a bum foot. Well, it wasn’t that apparent, except that she did more posing than moving. But the bottom line is still that I think she’s just a lovely presence, and her lines are very beautiful. I thought that was a very nice Rhumba. And very nice Rhumbas are hard to come by on this show. Yeah, it was a little light on content, but I find myself just happy watching her. (And, no, you don’t have to explain to me the oddness of my completely oblivious to the archetypal blond twink boy and mooning over the busty babe in the ballgown.)
It’s Cloris time! Cloris and Corky are doing a Cha Cha. Well…I was about to say that it was a very boring number, and the Cloris magic was losing some of its appeal, then they did that airplane spin. It was a bit of a “what the fuuu–?” moment, because the ol’ girl had been very stagnant up till then. But the sight of Corky spinning her around by one arm and one leg was a picture I may never get out of my head. And I honestly don’t know if I want it there or not. But, overall, I’m less amused. (Am I particularly grumpy tonight, or is this a particularly lackluster night?) And…after the judge’s comments, I have to say that I love the fact that Cloris started inciting the crowd when Carrie Ann was trying to give her some downer comments. You go, Frau Blucher!
Cody Montana and Blondie will now Samba for you. But continuing the Cancer Ward theme of this season, Blondie was apparently sick all week. Boo to the freakin’ Hoo. Y’know this show would be a lot less painful for me if I weren’t such a Brazilophile. Once again, they have decimated a Samba. Except that wasn’t really a Samba…anywhere. What the hell was that?! There was nothing even vaguely hinting of Samba in that. And the kid looked horrible, overextended and put into supremely weird body positions. I believe that was the worst dance of the evening. Even surpassing Chicken Legs, who at least did a dance that looked like the genre. Bah. Hunbug. I need a candy bar.
Warren and the Aussie are doing the Rhumba. I don’t have high expectations. But at least neither of them need a foot amputated or an organ removed. That’s something, right? Sorry, Margot, I know you like the guy, but Warren looked downright silly in that number. Making it a “story dance” didn’t work, because he can’t act. And Warren can partner okay, but puh-LEEZE don’t make him do Jazz Walks across the stage! And he did them all the way through that thing. Yikes! An American tragedy.
I’m not sure what there is to say about the group Hip Hop. Cody had some good butt action. Lucci didn’t. Lance and Lacey were at home. Cloris is Cloris.
I have no ideas who’s going home, since the judges had such radically different opinions from moi. And really…shouldn’t we be thinking about Yes on Obama and No on Prop 8 right now? Keep the faith, babeez.
Now that Kim has been bootied off (get it?) and Rocco is table scraps, there aren’t that many loathesome contestants left. Chicken-Legs Lucci and Disco Maurice are still here — and Refrigerator Warren will confirm a spot on my shit list tonight or redeem himself. And Cody Montana needs to have something scandalous, like a gay porn past, be revealed for him to be interesting enough. The others I can tolerate. I guess that’s a better percentage than digging for a pony (do you know that joke? Trust that it’s scatological.).
I would’ve been happier without the clips from A Chorus Line: The Horrible Movie, but it’s still pretty damn great. Let’s dance.
So Rocco would have been eliminated last week, if the show hadn’t been a big tool and ended the show with no elimination to keep this fine program on for every week possible. (In case of a contestant injury, aren’t they supposed to bring Comfort back? Just askin’.)
I’m just warning you right now: If the producers have decided they like this non-elimination thing and foresee keeping the show on into the spring, I’m outta here; I believe I have just enough cheese-tolerance to make it through the prescribed number of weeks without self-enacting the wood chipper scene from Fargo. (How much scorn and derision can one man have for a humble little television program, I ask you?)
Misty the Olympian is out, and the costume designer apparently went with her; it looked pretty Halloweeny as the remainders tramped down that staircase. This motley crew is doing either the Jive or the Viennese Waltz. I think Cloris is doing a Jive, from the looks of that hot pink thing she’s wearing. The Jive. Egad.
Susan Lucci started things off with the Jive. I fear for the Jive. Sure enough, she pretty much destroyed the thing, and not in a good way. The woman needs to eat a powerbar before she comes out; there is just no energy coming out of that perfect little 60-year-old body. I’m hearing she had an injury. Poor Erica. But I yawn.